


concerning the moon

by solarsystems



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bloodplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Menstruation Kink, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn With Plot, cisgirl!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarsystems/pseuds/solarsystems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>she knows she doesn’t look puffy or bloated. she’s sexy as fuck. even when she’s bleeding out of her vagina, louis tomlinson is a fucking goddess.</em>
</p><p>♡</p><p>louis bleeds once a month. harry just wants to make her feel good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	concerning the moon

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title is "let the flashes come" from 'wishes for sons' by lucille clifton. if you're into menstruation poetry, give it a read.
> 
> warnings for blood and the like. also, if you're not familiar with the concept of a menstrual cup, google is your friend. if you're a fellow menstruating female, i'd recommend looking into buying one for yourself. 
> 
> ♡on twitter at @mutantau♡

_"she wasn’t doing a thing that i could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together."_

louis can deal with periods. she takes a midol and carries on with her day. she knows she’s got it easy. barely any cramps or nausea, and on the few occasions that she can feel pms, there's usually someone who will take a punch for the better of the group. she keeps her electric pink menstrual cup in her toiletry bag like any other female would, and she only yells at liam when he does something extraordinarily stupid, like offer her a heating pad with one hand scratching the back of his neck and eyeing the dirt on his shoes like it’s the most marvellous thing he’s ever seen. 

she kicks him out, but keeps the heating pad. it’s nice to be warm.

the thing is, she’s in an all dudes band. well, she’s not a dude. she is most definitely female, with all the ‘extra equipment’ and what not, but the other four are without a doubt dudes and dudes don’t know about periods. they can read up on it, they can grow up with sisters, they can live with girlfriends, but they still don’t know what it’s like to have a part of your internal organs bleed out of your genitals. 

louis spares them the details, except for when niall just wouldn’t get off her that one time in amsterdam, and she had to raise her voice ‘i’m bleeding out of my vagina so for fucks sake niall, get off me.’ he keeps his distance for the second week of every month after that.

♡

they’re on their way to a signing in an american mall, some city she doesn’t even remember the name of, when she checks the app eloquently named "period diary" on her phone, because of course there’s an app for this, and her period is two days late. it’s not a big deal. periods are late sometimes. whatever. but she also knows that her menstrual cup is back at the bus. being female is just a big inconvenience, with periods and oppression and all that stuff. shit’s complicated.

harry’s next to her, hand slung over her shoulders and he’s looking interestingly down at the screen of her phone. 

“plus two? what’s that mean?” he asks indignantly, his enormous hand warm on the side of her arm. zayn is asleep on her other side, head lolling against the stuffed up shirt he’s using as a makeshift pillow, liam and niall are sharing a set of headphones and probably watching a video on youtube on niall’s phone and it’s _easy_ to tell him. 

“jus’ my period,” she answers, phone gliding into the pocket of her shorts. “two days late. no big deal.” 

she and harry have been best mates for three years. he knows. he drums his fingers against her shoulder and hums a bit under his breath, question almost tipping over his lips.

“you don’t have to answer this, just so we’re clear,” he stage whispers, eyebrows bouncing along his hairline. “but ya’ got that cup thing with you? or are you gonna steal a tampon off lou later? gotta work those extra ten minutes into our time schedule,” because of course he knows what kind of stuff she uses. 

she made him boil it for him once, when she was stuck on the toilet because she just wouldn’t stop bleeding and her toiletry bag was all the way over in her bunk and because she’s a lazy arse she didn’t bother with boiling it when her last period ended, just cleaned it with the really expensive designated soap and chucked it into her toiletry bag again. bad decision.

it was either harry or zayn, and zayn had that weird thing with blood, couldn’t even look at a cut on his own thumb without feeling sick. not that there was any actual blood involved with boiling the cup, but she figured he would be a bit grossed out. as much as they had all discussed their sex lives, and he and perrie had a very active one when they happened to be in the same part of the world, he had never mentioned a period kink. it was probably for a reason.

it wasn’t even embarrassing to yell out harry’s name from inside the cramped bathroom of the tourbus. louis doesn’t do embarrassing. she just asked him for a favour. friends do that. it’s a thing that friends do. she thinks, anyway. she and harry had always been bordering that line of more than friends, even on the x factor. not that that’s any of anyone’s business. 

and he’s so sweet, is the thing. he has this way of making you feel like you’re the most important thing in the universe, and it’s like he’s not even trying. 

since she’s the total opposite, it’s extremely evident on her face when louis dislikes someone. she can’t keep the scowl off her face for even a minute, but harry can just relax and get on with it. it’s a very admirable feature, louis decides. he also has the dumbest hair she’s ever seen, so he loses a few points just for that. she sticks her hand in the brown curls on his head, mussing it up and making him go “hey” with that long never ending vowel he likes to use when he’s fussy about something. it’s soft. because of fucking course.

“left it on the bus. probably won’t get it though, i can usually tell.”

her tell tale sign is that her tits get sore. her double d tits get sore as fuck. she hasn’t told anyone because niall would literally never let it go, and liam would go all red like a goddamn beet, and harry would probably google “period boobs” or something stupid like that just to be nice and end up on some weird porn site. it’s better to just be like the girls in the movies, clutching her tummy and complaining about how puffy she looks. 

anyway, she knows she doesn’t look puffy or bloated. she’s sexy as fuck. even when she’s bleeding out of her vagina, louis tomlinson is a fucking goddess.

“ah. i could text lou about it if you want me to, though. gotta be proactive,” and there’s the eyebrow wagging again. she pouts her lip and slaps his arm, not hard enough to hurt. zayn is sniffling into the side of her shoulder now, a warm boy on either side of her.

“fine, no text.” he pouts a bit when he slips his phone into the pocket of his jeans, but he still nuzzles the side of her head, the buzzed sides of her fauxhawk soft against the tip of his nose. 

“tell me if you need anything,” he whispers into the skin behind her ear, voice gone low. if he can tell that she crosses her legs, he doesn’t mention it. good boy.

♡

like clockwork, her tits start aching in the middle of the signing. she’s still smiling at the little girl in an “i love harry”-shirt, because she’s as much a part of this as any of the boys and she will not let stupid biology stop her. 

as soon as they’re in the van, she realizes she wore one of those bras that offer no support whatsoever, but looks great with a v-neck. because of course she did. she keeps fussing about, readjusting the underwire of her bra to no avail, and stretching out across two seats in the back of the van, vans-clad feet brushing against the leather of the seats.

harry is across from her, and he’s been acting weird since they sat down at the signing. he didn’t go for his usual seat on louis’ left, instead sitting down at the far right when louis had already sat down in the middle seat. whatever. someone’s got his panties in a twist. but right now his eyes are heavy on her, always orbiting around her, and his gaze keeps coming back to where her legs are crossed over one another.

“stop. whatever it is that you’re doing, stop,” zayn says, eyes already closed even though they literally left the signing two minutes ago. he doesn’t bother opening them now, just puts a hand on her thigh and makes himself heavy against her side.

she huffs, pushing the flopped down parts of her fringe off her forehead and settles in beside the boy by her side. this she can deal with. usually. if it wasn’t for harry being all weird and nothing but an angry toddler on the other side of the van.

they all have keycards for each other’s rooms. convenient and all that. which is why harry comes knocking on her door an hour after they all split up in the lobby, mumbling words about showers and skype calls, hands on a shoulder and a side hug in niall’s case. harry just nodded at her, feet already shuffling towards the lift, his overnight bag in one hand and the keycards to his own and louis’ room in the other. 

she started her period. her favorite pair of underwear are ruined. harry’s pissed at her for whatever reason and she doesn’t even know what she did to make him that way. and her tits are fucking sore. she sighs as she strips down in the en suite bathroom, turning the shower on and getting in, the gentle drizzle of warm water soothing on her chest. 

she can feel the slow buzz of arousal between her thighs still, thoughts always returning to harry’s voice in her ear _let me know if you need anything_ and if it was anything but how she needed him to fuck her until she screamed, yeah, she’d probably ask him. but now, here she is, tits aching and she keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs because she can’t, won’t, get off to the idea that harry could crowd her up against the tiled wall and slip one of her legs over his shoulder and eat her out until she sobbed. not that she’s thinking about it. louis can control herself.

she turns the spray colder.

♡

as soon as she’s out of the shower and has a hotel towel wrapped around her, there’s a click in her door. 

“hullo?” her voice echoes against the tiles, vibrations bouncing back and forth before they die out.

“‘s me. you mind if i come in?” harry’s voice replies, slow and languid compared to louis’ own.

she sticks her head out through the door, towel pressed to her chest. she nods as their eyes meet. he doesn’t really look angry, but she also knows that this whole pop star thing has made him stop wearing his heart on his sleeve, can keep most things hidden tucked under his skin. which is fine. whatever. a boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do. 

“jus’ gonna put on some shorts, i’ll be right there.” she doesn’t bother with underwear, just slips her boy shorts over her hips and wrestles with a big t-shirt which. of course today of all days she’s chosen one of his. it’s his old ramones one, and there’s a hole near the bottom hem and there are still neat little stitches in the sleeves from when harry tried to sow them into a permanent state of folded. it feels lived in. 

she enters the bedroom with her toiletry bag in one hand, running the other one self consciously through her wet hair. he’s on the bed, hands clasped in his lap and ridiculously long legs stretched out, his brogues kicked off a few feet away.

her voice is tentative when she speaks up and what the fuck, louis doesn’t do tentative. she knows what she wants. although, sometimes she doesn’t quite know how to ask for it.

“‘s up?” and she cringes because how is she so casual when she’s just going to ask this boy, her best friend for years, to fuck her when she’s got her period and that’s the end of that. if he says no, that’s fine. if he says yes, even better.

he pats the space next to him, rings on his fingers clacking together. as she gets down on the bed, there’s a stab of pain in her stomach because of fucking course. she only lets out a tiny grunt, coughs a bit to cover it up.

“i know you’re in pain, love.” harry says, because of course he can tell. “my offer still stands, let me know if you need anything,” and if it wasn’t for how his right hand slowly comes down on her thigh, an inch or two above the knee, thumb soothing against her naked skin, she probably wouldn’t find the courage. here goes nothing.

“there is one thing, actually. uhm, i’ve read that, uh, some girls can, you know sometimes, kinda feel better when they, uh, get off. and i kinda, if it’s okay, want you to, uh, help me. if you don’t mind, if you think i’m like really gross right now you don’t have to, i’m not pressuring you into anything, i can, like, go get my vibe if you want to leave right now because i’m ridiculous and disgusting, fuck, i’m sorry, i should’ve just shut up about it,” and she’s rambling, voice gone high and shrill with nerves. she’s completely aware of his hand still on her thigh, the slow drag of his fingers making her feel electric.

“jus’ wanna make you feel good,” he says, because harry is just the nicest boy she’s ever met. he laughs at all her antics, even when it’s at his expense, cooks for her when she’s homesick, he boiled her fucking period cup for god’s sake. they’ve never been just friends, and she’s gone breathless with the realization. it seems harry has come to the same conclusion, because his hand has left her thigh and is coming up to cup the back of her neck.

“wanna kiss you. can i do that?” she nods as a reply, not trusting her voice to abide her at this point in time. he tucks in close, hand massaging lightly against the back of her head, and when he gently fits his lips against hers, there’s no words other than plain _nice_ to describe the feeling. he deepens it almost instantly, his tongue against her bottom lip and it’s nice to kiss him. there’s still a soreness to her body, but it’s also a relief to have someone’s hands on her.

“boy, i haven’t got all night. can we get to it,” she says after a few minutes, pulling back to nuzzle her nose against his, because as nice as kissing harry is, she’d rather have his tongue touching far more interesting places of her body. he just laughs, tucks his head in between her shoulder and her neck and presses gentle kisses there, lips still a bit sticky from her. 

“how do we, like, do this?” he asks and his voice is muffled in the skin under her jaw and her eyes almost roll back in her head when his hand comes up to gently cup one of her tits, hands tentative against her. it’s getting a bit much what with all the touching and the whispering, so she straddles him, knocks an _oumph_ out of him when his head hits the mattress. she looks down at him, and of course he looks fucked out from just kissing, hair gone a bit messy and lips swollen, pupils dilated and he keeps licking his lips, tongue coming out to touch the places she touched herself just a minute before.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited to do this,” harry says. “been getting off to the thought of you like this for months now, lou, you don’t understand what it is that you do to me,” and she doesn’t. she could never. but there’s this boy underneath her that wants to make her feel good, and she goes easily, knee walking up the bed until she’s straddling his chest instead of his hips.

“can you eat me out? got me cup in and all that… just no fingers.” and it’s with his head bobbing up and down like a goddamn puppy waiting for treats that he wraps his arms around her hips and hands huge against her arse cheeks that he slips down, mouth right under the wet fabric over her cunt. he presses a kiss to the shivering inside of her thigh, fingers coming forward to pull her shorts down. he eases her out of them, tosses them somewhere behind them, and now there’s nothing between her cunt and that pretty sinful mouth of his.

"love it when you wear my clothes, lou. been thinking about you like this for so long. so pretty," he says between pressing kisses to the tender skin on the inside of her thighs, vibrations going straight to her clit and making her buzz. 

“fuck, so pretty like this, lou.” and when he presses his lips against her clit, she believes him. 

she can tell he’s a bit thrown off his usual game without being able to make her clench around his fingers, but he makes up for it with his mouth, pressing open mouthed kisses all over, and pressing in deep and staying. she grabs the headboard when he makes his tongue stiff and rubbing it consistently to the side of her clit, like he knows exactly what she likes, what she does to get herself off. 

“wanna come like this?” and he asks her, pressing his lips against her mound, damp curls under his lips as he waits for her answer, because he’s nineteen and the sweetest thing. she’s breathless now, just nodding _fuck yes haz please more_ because she’s desperate for it.

“you taste different like this, more like iron and less like cunt i think, but so good, babe, so good to me,” and she slumps over when he says it, hips stuttering against his face.

he busies himself with getting her off as quickly as he can after that, and soon she can feel her orgasm closing in on her. it’s like she’s chasing a dying sun between her hipbones, and harry's efforts are only spurring her on.

she fists one hand in his hair and comes, and it’s like the whole world curls in on itself, won’t stop shaking. her back is arching and her hips keep rutting against his tongue that he keeps pressed in right next to the nub of her clit, letting her keep the pace she needs. she can barely keep her moan in, gritting her teeth and on that second exhale, it's almost too much, this boy underneath her and his tongue made of sin. 

it's like all the tension is just gone from her body, shoulders slumping forward as she scoots back a little and sits back on his chest. she's wet against the fabric of his shirt. 

"you're so good," she says, voice breathless. “so good to me.”

his face is covered with her when he replies. "like i said, just wanna make you feel good." 

and the thing is, it's not weird. it's not weird for her to shuffle back even more so their heads are level. it's not weird for her to rut slowly against his cock in his tight trousers. it’s not even weird when she unbuttons his pants and pulls them down to mid thigh, his cock arching thick and pretty against his belly. he’s hard from just this, from just eating her out and louis is seeing bloody stars because _fuck that’s so hot_. 

she bends down to kiss him, and she can taste herself on his tongue.

“wanna fuck you,” she says, pressing kisses to his cheeks, his nose, the wrinkle between his eyebrows. her hips are slowly pressing down on his cock, spreading wetness and not being just enough. his palms are spread on her arse cheeks, holding them apart so that his cock can slide back and forth between her spread legs. 

“how do we do that, because that’s like all i want to do right now,” he says. “you should probably take the cup out though, seems like a hassle,” and he’s smiling now because this is so ridiculous, he’s going to fuck everything out of her and her mouth is almost watering just thinking about his cock inside of her, fucking in hard and staying there.

she’s off in a flash, legs like jelly under her as she walks to the bathroom to find a towel and to remove the cup. it’s half full when she dumps the content in the toilet, and she rinses it under the tap, humming under her breath. this is good. it’s not weird. harry’s the fucking best.

she grabs a towel off the rack next to the shower and a condom out of her toiletry bag and slips out of the bathroom again, already feeling the wetness between her thighs. 

he’s naked. because of course he is. he’s harry styles. being naked is like. his true nature. and he looks so pretty, is the thing. his legs go on for miles, and his hands are stupidly large, and his cock is all pink and heavy against his stomach, and he’s smiling at her, can’t keep his eyes off her. he looks like her like she’s the goddamn sun, and maybe today she is.

“you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen, and that’s not even a stretch,” he says, making grabby hands at her from his position at the headboard. louis just laughs throws the towel and the rubber at his head, missing terribly as she’s got the most terrible aim out of all the band. his eyes are genuinely twinkling at her when she knee walks up the bed, and as she bends down to press her lips against his, she tucks her arms around his chest and tugs, rolling them over so he’s hovering over her.

“feel like this is most convenient,” she says, hand reaching behind her to grab at the towel. he goes easily, grabs it with his right hand and laying it out under her, tapping a finger against her bum to make her lift it. whenever he touches her, there’s like this electric buzz under her skin just humming in time with her heart, waiting for his hands, his lips, his tongue. 

“if you tell me to stop, i will. just like… tell me,” he says as he’s positioning himself at her opening, blunt head pressing lightly against the swollen skin there. “just wanna make you feel good,” he adds, because it’s the truth. he looks so earnest, just wants to please, wants to make it good for her and she just can’t wait any longer to feel him inside her.

“get on with it, styles.” and he does. she’s already loose from her first orgasm, and there’s a new wetness there that neither of them are used to. there’s already redness on her thighs from walking from the bathroom, and he leans down when he’s on an outward thrust to put his finger through it.

“you feel so good like this, lou, like you have no idea. you’re so wet, like i could just keep fucking you for hours,” harry says, voice gone heavy with exertion, brows furrowed in an effort to stay focused on the task at hand. he looks pretty, and she tells him. there’s already color on his cheeks but it deepens with her words. prettiest boy, she concludes. 

she wraps her legs around his waist, and she pauses for a second to hike them up higher, so that her feet are clasped together behind his shoulder blades. he can go deeper like that, and he’s hitting that one spot that’s making everything spin and she’s going to come from this. there’s wetness smeared all over the inside of her thighs, and there’s red on harry to, everything glistening with her.

she comes with his thumb on her clit, rubbing just to side of it, his other hand clasped with hers, fingers laced together as he thrusts in and out of her. she’s clawing on his back, needs something to ground her when all her strings are cut and she’s lost, floating, jumping off a goddamn bridge. she shudders as she comes down and pushes a tiny bit at his hipbone, because he’s so big inside her and everything is so sensitive and _baby please you can come on my tits_ and he pulls out. 

it’s like losing a limb, in a way and she feels empty without anything filling her up. she looks down again, and there’s red all over her thighs, on harry’s thighs where he pressed into her. he has a hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off slowly, using the red wetness from her to make it glide. 

“you have no idea, lou, no idea,” and she’s rolling the condom off, not bothering with tying it up which is not really that gross since he hasn’t come yet, but she mentally curses at herself when she chucks it at the far end of the towel. if it misses, she doesn’t see it. harry is bracing his knees on either side of her, cock jutting out obscenely and stomach quivering with how tense he is, almost there.

she wraps her smaller hand around him, and he comes, just like that. spurts of white land on her belly, some even reaching the bottom of her tits. he’s shuddering, voice blown out when he says “prettiest girl i’ve ever seen,” and ducks his head down, pressing his lips to her temple.

“i’d love to cuddle for like an hour and half, but i feel like we need a shower,” louis says. “i feel kinda gross,” she adds, looking down at the blood stained towel underneath her. 

“pretty girl, don’t leave me here all alone,” harry stage whispers because he’s a post sex cuddler. would anyone really guess otherwise? he’s attached to her like a goddamn spider monkey, long limbs coming up to tangle her up in his arms, and it’s so tempting to just not. not take a shower. not clean up their mess. not be a responsible adult. but the come on her belly is starting to harden up and the blood between her thighs is drying too, and it’s not very nice. 

“please, haz. i’ll wash your hair for you if you’re good, yeah?”

she gets an affirmative hrrmph, muffled into the skin on her chest where harry decided to lay his head down, mouth open against the warmth of her tit. which is actually kind of sore. _ouch_.

“come ya big lug, i might blow you in the shower if you beat me there.” and his head comes up just like that, hair rumpled and almost like it’s tilted one way on top of his head.

“what’s that?” he asks, voice heady and breathless still.

“come find me,” she says, and she pushes herself out the bed, leaving the prettiest boy she’s ever laid eyes on naked underneath the sheets. 

louis tomlinson is a fucking goddess.


End file.
